


perfect poorly wired circuit

by pfaerie



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10687146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfaerie/pseuds/pfaerie
Summary: “C’mon, Reyes. What’re you wearing?”





	perfect poorly wired circuit

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Issues" by Julia Michaels
> 
> spoilers for the Settling Kadara mission and some minor things for Reyes' romance/backstory

Adjusting to life in Heleus has been hard, though Scott thinks that’s the understatement of millennium. It’s been one thing after another; Sara stuck in cryo, the shitshow that was Habitat-7, Dad dying, and all the responsibilities of being the new, horribly under-qualified, human Pathfinder all precariously balanced on his metaphorical plate. If Tann isn’t calling him, then it’s Addison, and if it’s not Addison, then Prodromos needs emergency supplies, and if Prodromos doesn’t need emergency supplies, then the kett are attacking one of his other settlements.

Pile all of that on top of learning the Tempest’s crew, decoding Remnant technology, and getting used to having SAM in his head 24/7, well. There’s a reason Lexi’s been flooding his e-mail with relaxation exercises and telling him to get more sleep. Even Drack is telling him to take a load off.

All the credit can’t go to the surprise career change or the big move to a new galaxy though. _You have ants in your pants,_ Sara would tease when he’d get particularly fidgety during their _Star Wars_ marathons when they were kids. He’s been restless for as long as he can remember, never able to quite turn his brain off like his sister could.

Back in the Milky Way, sleepless nights just meant taking a walk through the empty halls of the Citadel or sneaking into the docking bay to watch merchant ships come and go. His time in the Systems Alliance accommodated his erratic sleep schedule too. He’d always take the night watch, and usually an excitable archaeologist would want to babble on and on about their Prothean discoveries that day. It kept him entertained, and Scott never found himself bored as he rifled through artifact scans by himself, learning what he could when it was just him.

Any thrill he got being a part of uncovering Prothean secrets are exponentially magnified in Heleus. Here, everything is new: the plants, the animals, the aliens, the Remnant. He’s learning new things every single day with the promise of more tomorrow and even more the next day. He hardly ever sleeps, doesn’t _want_ to sleep for fear of missing something big. That changes after spending three and a half days hunting down information on Zia Cordier, getting shot at by Outcasts, and falling into the trap at Spirit’s Ledge. Scott can handle the bullets and minor injuries, Liam set his broken finger and the medi-gel took care of the pain, but dealing with _Reyes’ fucking ex_ was a bit of an unwanted surprise. 

Liam and Vetra stay behind to procure some last minute supplies, but they insist they’ll be fine without Scott so he leaves them to it. It’s a relief reboarding the Tempest, and he’s about to forego the shower and go straight to bed until Kallo makes a choking sound. He catches a glimpse of Suvi pinching her nose as the salarian pilot starts herding him down the ladder and to the bathroom. "Your stench is literally blinding me, Ryder," he complains. "It burns."

“Aw, let the man be. That’s the smell of victory,” Gil snickers from the upper deck.

Kallo twitches irritably, but ignores him. “I’ll override the hot water for you, just please get cleaned up. You’ll thank me later." Scott shoots Gil a helpless look, but he just shrugs and winks. The salarian turns on him and spits, “I thought your people said victory is supposed to be sweet,” to Gil, skinny arms flailing. Scott doesn’t hear the retort.

He scrubs down under water that just below scalding, SAM checking in every few seconds to make sure he’s awake. He still smells pretty bad when he finishes up, but at least it’s masked by the smell of citrus and he doesn’t feel greasy anymore. He doesn’t bother putting on clothes, can’t lift his foot to take a step, forget trying to put on pants. He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

 _Pathfinder, incoming call from Mr. Vidal,_ SAM says, gently urging him awake only a few hours later. Scott turns his face into his pillow with a groan, intent on ignoring the alert. _Scott, it’s two in the morning-_

“Exactly,” he interrupts. “I don’t take calls at two in the fucking morning, SAM.”

 _It may be urgent,_ and that has Scott bolting upright so fast he gets lightheaded. He scrubs at his face, slaps his cheeks a few times to force himself to shake off the grogginess. _You’re worried about me?_ Reyes’ voice echoes in his head, and Scott knew - he just fucking knew - that more people were going to go after him as soon as Scott fucking left. Fucking vultures.

“Patch him through,” Scott commands, speech still a little slurred as he struggles to get out of bed. He stumbles a little as he grabs a mostly-clean looking pair of pants off the floor, full on collapses when he tries to step into them. “Here’s fine.” If it is an emergency, he’s not going to waste Reyes’ time by making him wait until he can get across the ship to the conference room, especially when his own clothes are fighting against him.

_Understood._

Scott’s trying to get his belt through the loops on his pants when he hears Reyes say, “Ryder,” over the comm.

“Reyes, is everything alright?” he can’t seem to get the belt to buckle when he realizes that he threaded the belt on inside out. He groans, doesn’t hear Reyes say his name. “We’re in the Pytheas system, I think? Was gonna check on Eos, well Prodromos - wait. You don’t need to know that. I’ll get Kallo to get us back to Kadara. We can be there in ten minutes? Shit, maybe fifteen. My suit’s still damaged, but I’ll make do if you-”

“Scott,” Reyes says a little more harshly. Scott’s hand is frozen an inch away from the panel that controls his door. “Calm down, Ryder. Nothing’s wrong.”

Scott blinks.

“Then why the fuck are you _calling_ me at two o’clock in the goddamn morning?” he hisses, and his legs give out as soon as he’s a step away from his mattress. He’s shaking, adrenaline coursing through him like a storm. He rips his belt off his pants and throws it across the room. He’s not mad, in fact he’s relieved that Reyes isn’t in any imminent danger, but now he’s teeming with way too much extra energy. “Reyes? You there?”

“Did you really mean what you said?” he asks before adding a quick, “earlier, I mean,” even though it’s a completely useless clarification.

“I said a lot of things earlier. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“To Zia. The thing about me being a better man,” he supplies. He’s trying to sound casual, but ultimately fails. There’s a lilt in his voice when he says the last two words. It makes it sound like a question, as if he thinks he couldn’t possibly have heard Scott correctly.

“Why would I not mean it?” he asks carefully, squinting at his own feet. He watches the tendons rise as he flexes his toes.

“You barely _know_ me.”

“I know you apparently don’t own a watch,” he counters, but Reyes isn’t wrong. He doesn’t know a lot about him, but he’s been nothing but helpful since he docked on the hell hole that is Kadara Port. He knows the guy is just as annoyed by Tann as he is, knows he’s the only person on Kadara that likes him, knows that there’s some kind of chemistry between them that even Liam can see, “and I know you don’t buy your own damn drinks.”

Reyes makes an amused noise, but the, “I shouldn’t have called,” is self-deprecating at best. Scott doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how Reyes’ boundless confidence is shaken. He wonders if it’s an effect of facing Zia, if she has him questioning if anyone, Scott particularly, could ever like him. _I’m a greedy man,_ fell from his too easily, like he was parroting something she’d told him. The idea of Reyes spending hours in the back room of Tartarus, unsure if it’d burn less to take another shot of liquor or hit the call button sears on Scott’s brain unpleasantly.

“My sister says people only call after midnight for two things: they need cash or they want ass.” _Cash and ass don’t rhyme,_ he’d told her as he deleted the text from Jason. She’d rolled her eyes while arguing, _it’s a slant rhyme. It’s funny, Scott. Jeez. Loosen up._ “And since I’ve already bought you drinks - twice, I might add - I’m guessing you don’t need cash.”

Reyes scoffs, but doesn’t answer him.

Scott leans back and tucks an arm behind his head, sinks into the overly soft mattress and pillows. “C’mon, Reyes. What’re you wearing?” he asks in his most ridiculously over-the-top, sultry voice.

“Don’t make me hang up on you,” Reyes threatens, but he doesn’t so Scott keeps going.

“Ha ha. And then what?”

“Were you like this back in the Milky Way?”

“How do I say ‘winky face’ in a verbal conversation? I guess I said it just now, but I don’t think it quite captures the essence of semicolon, end parenthesis.”

Reyes sucks his teeth audibly. “Are we seriously doing this, Ryder?”

“Hey, you called me,” Scott laughs as he kicks off his pants, which has a giant purple stain on the leg he didn’t notice before, to get more comfortable. The adrenaline is wearing off and he’s starting to crash. If he’s lucky, he’ll fall back asleep before he has to get up and check on Prodromos in a few hours.

There’s some shifting on Reyes’ end, and he curses when he drops something on the floor. Scott almost thinks the other man forgot to hang up before walking around until he hears Reyes say, “want to know how I got the name Shena?” His voice is a low rumble that makes something warm rise up the back of Scott’s neck.

“I have a few ideas.” _Fantasies,_ his brain unhelpfully corrects. “I wouldn’t mind specifics.”

Reyes’ voice has a comforting lull to it, and Scott would fall asleep to the sound of it if said voice wasn’t describing the way he’d map out every single excruciating inch of Scott’s body with only his mouth in vivid detail. _I’m good with...words,_ and Scott rescinds his earlier statement. _That’s_ the biggest understatement of the millennium. “I’d commit you, every single part of, you to memory,” he says, and a shiver shoots down Scott’s spine. “Your pulse, your scars. I want to know every part of you. Intimately.”

“Jesus. My heart’s gonna beat outta my chest,” Scott admits. He knows his face is red, the tips of his ears burning hot against the cool pillow.

“I know,” Reyes says, and Scott can definitely hear some of that cockiness he was missing returning to his voice.”I can almost taste it, hammering under your ribs. I’d drag my lips across your chest, press my tongue flat against your skin. How do you feel about teeth?”

“Good,” Scott breathes. He has his eyes screwed shut, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his hands wander with Reyes’ guidance. “You can use teeth.”

“I’d tease you a little longer. Lick a wet streak across the line of your collarbone. My teeth only graze your skin,” and Scott feels gooseflesh rise on the left side of his neck where he drags his own nails, where he imagines Reyes is teasing him. “I’d take my time with you, I want you to come apart under me so slow that it aches.”

 _You’ve got that down pat,_ Scott thinks, but it doesn’t feel like it’s his turn to talk, so he doesn’t. “I’d work my way down the ridges of your ribs slow, kiss at each one until I reach your stomach. I know you’re squirming, that you want me to go lower, but I don’t. Not yet. I’d pin you down, suck a mark on your hip, follow it to the band of your pants-”

“I’m not wearing pants,” Scott interrupts. “No underwear either.”

“Even better,” Reyes says, voice dripping with satisfaction. “I’d move my hands down to your thighs, urge them apart. How flexible are you, Scott?”

“Really flexible.”

“I’d stretch you as far as you can go, sink my teeth into your leg,” and Scott moans when he digs crescent moons into his inner thigh. “Nobody will be able to see the marks I leave here but you. I know what you want. Know how hard you are.”

“Don’t be a tease,” Scott huffs, mostly because he’s frustrated at how right Reyes is.

“But I’m so good at it,” and he can hear the smirk in Reyes’ voice. _Can’t argue with that._ “I’d tease you more, get my mouth so close to where you want it that your cock twitches when my breath ghosts over you. I want to drive you so mad you forget everything but my name.”

_“Reyes.”_

“Just like that.”

“Tell me how you’d suck me off.”

“So bossy.”

“Painfully turned on,” Scott argues, or at least he tries to argue. It comes out more like a confession than anything else.

“I’d press my tongue flat against you and make my way up, slowly. So slow you’d think I’d never make my way to the tip, that you’ll never get in my mouth,” Reyes continues, and Scott throws his head back with a gasp as he palms himself agonizingly slow. “The anticipation is killing you, isn’t it? You’re so wound up you’d buck your hips as soon as I got my lips around you,” and, to be completely honest, Scott knows truer words have never been spoken.

“Reyes,” he says, voice cracking. “Please.” He’s vaguely aware of the way Reyes says, _go right ahead,_ before he jerks himself off. He’d be more ashamed of how little it actually takes for his toes to curl and his hips to buck up, Reyes’ name on his lips. He can’t remember if it was a scream or a whisper he’d said it with. “You…” he starts, but his mind hasn’t quite caught up to what he wants to say.

“Hm?” Reyes hums.

 _“Shena,_ eh?” Scott laughs, reaches for something to wipe himself off with. “That’s a pretty dead-on codename if I ever heard one.”

“Never had a complaint.”

Scott's pretty sure the proper etiquette for late night phone sex is to _not_ call each other for at least twenty-four hours, so he's surprised when Suvi announces that Reyes is requesting a holovid conference as he's suiting up for the Prodromos mission. He tries to hide the flash of embarrassment on his face as he makes his way past, well, everyone to take the call. And of course they all wait directly below him, straining to hear what could possibly make Scott Ryder turn around three seconds before starting something important. He's not going to hear the end of it from Liam. "I'd love to hear more, but this isn't a private channel," and then the bastard has the audacity to turn the tables and _actually_ ask him out, promise to be a perfect gentleman and everything! He's definitely not going to hear the end of it from any of his crew mates.

**Author's Note:**

> this was literally just an experiment and a way to avoid thinking about how finals are like 2 weeks away. sorry for any typos


End file.
